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THE 



DESERTED VILLAGE 



BY 

OLIVER G(JLD SMITH 



BOSTOX : 
J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY. 

1866. 






Oj 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year IbGo, liy 

J. E. TILT ON & CO.. 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for tlic District 

of Massachusetts. 



ALVOEU. PKINTEU. 








;■?-■''?-• 



^-f 



Z^,^"' 



QWICET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, 






Where health and plenty cheered the labouring 



swam, 
Where ?milin,2* spring its earliest visit paid, 



4 The D e s i: r t e d Village. 

And parting sunimer's lingering blooms delayed: 

Dear lovely bowers of iunocence and ease, 

Seats of my youtli, v/lien every sport could please ! 

How often have I loitered o'er thv sreen, 

Where humble happiness endeared each scene! 

How often have I paused on every charm, 

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm. 

The never-ftiiling brook, the busy ndll, 

The decent church that topped the neighbouring inil. 

The hawthorn l)Ush, witli seats beneath the shade. 

For tnlking ago and whispering lovers mjide ! 

How often have I blest the coming day. 

When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 

And all the village train, from labour free, 

Led up tlieir sports beneath the spreading tree ; 

AVhiie many a ])astime circled in the shade, 

The young contending as the old surveyed ; 

And many a, gambol frolicketl o'er tlie ground, 




'< The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade. 
For talking age and whispering lovers made !"— ( P. 4.) 



T H I-: D E !< E K T p: I) Y i l l a (r p:. 

And sleights of art and feats of strength went 

round : 
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 




Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; 
The dancing pair that simply sou.kdit renown, 
Bv holdincr out, to tire each other down; 



The I) e s 1% k t e d Village. 7 

Tlie swain mistrustless of liis smutted face, 

While secret laughter tittered round the phice : 

The bashful viro-iii's sidelong looks of love, 

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove: 

These were thy charms, sweet village I sports like 

these, 
AVith sweet succession, taught een toil to please; 
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence 

shed, 
These were thy charms. — but all these charms aie 

fled. 

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn: 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green : 
One only master grasps the whole domain. 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain; 




The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love. 
The matron's glance that wowiJ th^se looks reprove' 

(P. 7,1 



The D e s e k t e d Y i l l a g e . 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 




Amidst thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 



10 



T II i: Desk r t !•: d V i l l a (> e 



And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoilers hanr 
Far, far away thy children leave the land. 




Ill fares tlie land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: 
Princes and lords niav flourish, or may tade : 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made : 



The Deserted Village. 11 

But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
When once destroyed, can never be supplied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
When every rood of around maintained its man : 

"A 

For him light labour spread her wholesome store, 
Just gave wliat life required, but gave no more : 
His best companions, innocence and health ; 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered i trade's unfeeling train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain; 
Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, 
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, 
And every want to luxury allied. 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
Those calm desires that asked but little room^ 



12 T 11 1: D p: s e r t e d V i l l a g e . 

Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 
Lived in each look, and brightened all the green ; 
These, flir departing, seek a kinder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, 
Thj glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take mv solitary rounds. 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
Remembrance wakes, with all her busv train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of care. 
In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; 



irWi^^^^Ss 




" Here, as I take my solitary rounds, 

Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds." 

(P. 12.) 



14 The D e s e r t e d Y i l i. age. 

To liiisbMiid out life's taper at the close, 
And keep the flame from wasting In^ repose ; 
I still had hopes — for pride attends iis still — 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill. 
Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; 
And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue. 
Pants to the place frr)m whence at first he flew, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
Here to return, — and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement ! friend to lifes decline, 
Retreats from care, that never must be mine. 
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these 
A youth of labour with an age of ease ; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since "tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
For him no wretches, born to work and weep. 




'■ Around mv fire an evening group to draw, 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw." — (P. 14. j 



16 



Tup: D e s e k t i: d Tillage. 



Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state. 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate : 




But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Ansrels around befriendins; virtue's friend ; 
Sinks to the grave with un perceived decay, 
While Resignation gently slopes the way; 



T V r } 




" No surly porter stands in guilty state, 

To =purn imploring famine from the gate." — fP. 16.) 



18 The Desekted ^"illage. 

And, all his prospects brightening to the last, 
His heaven commences ere the world he past. 

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came softened from below ; 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their voung ; 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool. 
The playful ehildren just let loose from school; 
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind. 
And the loud laugli that spoke the vacant mind : 
These all in sweet confusion souoht the shade, 
And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 
But now the sounds of population fail, 
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 



T II E D E S E R T ED Y I T. L A G E . 



19 



But all the bloomy flush of life is fled. 

All but yon widowed, solitary thing, 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; 

She, w^retched matron, forced in age, for bread, 




To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 

To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn. 

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn ; 

She only left of all the harmless train, 

The sad historian of the pensive plain. 




" she, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread. 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread. 
To pick her wintrv fagot from the thorn." — (P. 19. j 



T II ]■: 1) K a K K T J*: i > \' i l r. a d i", 



n 



. Near yonder copse, where once tlie garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild. 
There, where a few torn slirubs the place disclose, 




The village preachers modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing ricli with forty pounds a year; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race. 



22 TheDeseeted^^illage. 

Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his 

place ; 
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, 
Bj doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sate by his fire, and talked the night away; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done. 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe: 




'' The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 

Sate bv his fire, and talked the night away."— (P. 21- 



24 



The Desehted Village 



Careless their merits or tlieir fkults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 




Thus to relieve the ^yretched was his pride. 
And even liis failin2:s leaned to \'irtue's side ; 
But in liis daty prompt at every call. 
He watclied and wept, he prayed and I'elt lor all 



The Deserted Village. 25 

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
Pie tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed. 
The reverend champion stood. At liis control, 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace. 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
The service past, around tlie pious man, 
With ready zeal, each lionest fustic ran ; 

4 




" Even children followed, with endearing wile, 

And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. 

(P. Z'/.) 



The Deserted Village. 27 

Even children followed, with endearing wile, 

And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. 

His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed ; 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, 

Bat all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
I knew him well, and every truant knew : 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 




" There, in his noisy mai\sion, skilled to rule. 
The village master taught his little school." 

(.P. 27.J 



The D e s e irr e d Village 



29 



Tlie day's disasters in liis morning face; 

Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee, 

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 




Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
Yet he w\^s kind, or, if severe in aught. 
The love he bore to learning was in fault. 
The village all declared how much he knew : 
*Twas certain lie could write, and cipher too; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 



30 



The Deserted Y i l r. a g e 



And even the story ran that he could gauge; 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill. 

For even though vanquished he could argue still ; 




While words of learned length and thundering sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; 
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 
That one small head could carrv all he knew. 



The Desekted Yillagk. 81 

But past is all his fame. The very spot, 
Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. 
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 
Low lies that liouse where nut-brown draughts inspired, 
Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retired. 
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
And news much older than their ale went round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
The parlour splendours of that festive place : 
The wliite-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor. 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; 
The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 
The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; 
The hearth, except when wintei- chilled the day, 
With as]K'ii Ijoughs, and flowers and fennel gay; 




Where village statesmen talked with looks profound. 
And news much older than their ale went round." 



T HE D E S E K T E D V I L L A G E . 33 

While broken teacups, wisely kept for sliow, 
E.an«:ed o'er the chimney, ^"listened in a row. 

( 

Vain, transitory'- splendours! coidd not ail 
Reprieve the tottering mansion iVoni its fall? 
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
An hours importance to the poor man's lieart; 
Thither no more the peasant sliall repair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care; 
No more the farmer's news, the barbers tale, 
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall 

cleai, 
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantlin<]i: bliss o'o i-ound ; 
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be pressed, 
Sliall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 



84 



T H K L) K S K \i r K U \' I L I. A <r E, 



V(^< ! let tlic ri'-lt (Icfide, !l'>' i^'mhl (li«|-n]!, 
rh<'<«' simple hlessiiiii's ol' the lowix- rnnii . 
To ine more deiw. con2eni;il to mv lie.-n-t. 
t )ne native ciiarm, than all the uloss of art. 




Spontaneous joys, wiiere nature has its [)lay, 
The soul ado})ts. and owns their rirst-horn sway; 
LiiliitJv they trolic o'er tlie vacant mind, 
L'nenvied. unmolested, uncontined : 




'^ Km t.if long |)iiin|), llic luuiiiiglit luusqiicraae, 
Willi .ill liic ticikh cir waiUi'U WL-altli an;i\rd. 



36 The Deserted Village. 

But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arraved. — 
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain. 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain : 
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be J03". 

Ye friends to truth, je statesmen, who survey 
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay. 
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore. 
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 
Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound. 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name, 
That leaves our useful products still the same. 
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and ])ride 



The Deserted Village. 37 

Takes up a space that many poor supplied , 

Space for liis lake, his park's extended bounds, 

Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : 

Tlie robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 

Has robbed the nei<]fhbouring^ fields of half their urowth ; 

His seat, where solitarj' sports are seen, 

Indignant vSpurns the cottage from the green ; 

Around the world each needful product flies. 

For all the luxuries the world supplies: 

While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all. 

In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female, unadorned and plain. 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. 
Slights everj?- borrowed charm that dress supplies, 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
But when those charms are past — for charms are frail. — 
When time advances, and when lovers fiail. 




.Slie liien snines tiutn. miIicUous lo l)lc'.-. 
In all iIk- gUriiig irnpoteiKc ot lirc.-.,-.. ' 



T H K D K S K \< T V L) V I L 1. A (i K 



:VJ 



Sh<-' I hen <h)nt's lorrh. <<)ii<'ir<>i!< i<> i)le-<s. 
in ;iil the Li'laniiL!" iinpotence (»1 tlress: 
Thus fares ti^e land, hv luxiirr hpt.rnved 




In natures simpiest charms at Urst arraved: 
But. verging to decline, its splendours rise. 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise : 
While, scouriied bv famine from tlie smilinii' 1a ik 



4:0 The I)esp:kted Village, 

The mournful peasant leads his humble band; 
And while he sinks, without one arm to save, 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where then, ah where, shall poverty reside, 
To scape the pressure (jf contiguous pride? 
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed. 
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
Those fenceless fields the sons ol wealth divide. 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 
If to the city sped, what waits him there''* 
To see profusion that he must not share ; 
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; 
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know- 
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade. 
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; 



T H E I ) E 8 E K T E D V I L L A G E , 



41 



Here while the proud their long-dnuvu pomp display. 
There the black gibbet glooms beside ihe wav, 
Tlie dome wiiei-e Plcasiii-c holds her midiiiojit reio-n 




Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous tram: 
Tumultuous gi-aiideur crowds the blazing s(p.uire 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e"er aunoyl 




•■' Ah I turn thine eycf 
Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 

P 4J-) 



The Deserted Villac^e. 43 

Snrc these denote one universal joy I 

Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah! turn thine eves 

Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 

She ouce, perhaps, in village plenty blest. 

Has wept at tales of innocence distressed : 

Her modest looks tlie cottage might adorn. 

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 

Now lost to all, her friends, her virtue tied. 

Near her ])etrayers door she lays her head, 

And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower. 

Witli heavy heart deplores that luckless hoiii\ 

When idly first, ambitious of the town, 

She left her wheel, and robes of country brown. 

Do tliine, sweet Auburn, thme, the loveliest tnuu 
l)o thy fair tribes participate her pain? 
pyen now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bi-ead. 




With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour. 
When idiv first, ambitious of the town, 
She left her wheel, and robes of country brown." 

(P. 41., 



Till-: Deserted yiLLA(rK. 



45 



All, no I To distant climes, a drearv scene, 
Where half the convex world intrudes between. 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go. 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 




Far different there from all that charmed before^, 
The various terrors of that horrid shore: 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
And hercely shed intolerable day ; 
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing. 



i6 The Deserted Villa a e. 

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling: 
Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, 
AVhere the dark scorpion gathers death around ; 
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake : 
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey. 
And savage men, more murderous still than the\- ; 
While oft ill whirls the mad tornado flies, 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
Far different these from every former scene. 
The cooling brook, the grassy- vested green, 
The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 
That only sheltered thefts of harmle.-s love. 

Good Heaven I what sori-ows gloomed that parting 
day 
Tliat called them from their native walks away : 
Wlieu the poor exiles, every pleasure past. 




'•'■ The good old sire the first prepared to go 

To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe. 

(P. 48.) 



^^ The D e s p: r t p: I) Village. 

Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked tlieir 

last. 
And took a long farewell, and wished in A'ain 
For seats like these beyond the western main: 
And. shuddering still to face tlie distant deep, 
Eeturned and wept, and still returned to wee})! 
The good old sire the tirst prepared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for otliers' woe ; 
But for himself, in eonseious virtue brave. 
He only Avished for w^orlds l)eyond the grave. 
His loxely daughter, lovelier in her tears. 
The fond companion of his hel|)less vears. 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 
And left a lover's for a father's arms. 
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes. 
And blessed the cot Avhere eveiy pleasui-e I'osc ; 
And kis.-<ed her thoughtless babes with many a tear. 
And clasped them close, in s;)rrow d<>ul)lv drar: 




" And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear. 
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear/' 
7 (P. 4i^.i 



50 The Deserted Village. 

Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

O Luxury ! thou cursed by Heaven's decree. 
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee ! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy. 
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 
Boast of a florid vigour not their own. 
At every draught more large and large they grow, 
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 
Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 

E'en now the devastation is begun. 
And half the business of destruction done ; 
E'en now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 
I see the rural virtues leave the land. 



The Deserted Village 



61 



Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail 
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 
Downward they move, a melancholy band. 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 



7 




Contented toil, and hospitable care. 

And kind connubial tenderness, are there ; 

And piety with wishes placed above, 

And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, 



52 The D e s e k t e d Y i l l a a e . 

Still livst to flv where sensual joys invade; 
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 
To catch the heart, or strike for lionest fame; 
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
My shame in crowds, my solitaiy^ pride ; 
Thou source of all my bliss and all ni}- woe, 
Tliat found'st me }>oor at lirst, and keep'st me so ; 
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, 
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! 
Farewell: and oli ! where'er thy voice be tried, 
On Tornos cliffs, or Panibamarcas side. 
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, 
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 

Still let thy voice, prevailing over time. 
Eedress the rigours of the inclement clime: 
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain : 
Teach eri-ing man to sj)urn tlic rage of gain ; 
Tcacli him. that states ol' natixo strength possessed, 



The Desektkd Village 



oo 



Thougii very poor, may still be very blest; 
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 
As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away: 
While self-dependent power can time defy, 
As rocks resist the billows and tlie sky. 




